They knew that there was no remedy. If either of them were rash enough to report matters to the senior officer, on their arrival at Singapore a court of inquiry would follow. What that would result in they knew but too well; Crushe, having creatures enough at his command ready to swear to anything, would be exonerated, while in all probability the officer who made the complaint would be sent home in disgrace. Moreover, it is considered ungentlemanly for officers to report each other.
One morning the ship was steaming in a dead calm, with Cravan in charge of the deck, the first lieutenant having ceased to keep regular watch, in consequence of the captain's illness. Midshipman Ryan had mustered the watch and idlers, and found one of the number absent.
"Who is the infernal sweep," demanded Nosey.
Upon this Mr. Shever, who was standing by, reported, "It's Dunstable, sir."
"Fetch him up—rouse him out—don't spare him, Mr. Shever; cut him down, curse him!"
Dunstable was a weak-minded fellow, who had one day before he went to sea stolen a loaf of bread to keep life in his body, and therefore had been a thief according to the law of the land. A humane magistrate gave him the alternative of "entering a man-of-war, or going to prison for a month." The poor idiot chose the freedom of the sea to a lodging in Pentonville palace, and was in due time drafted to the Stinger as an ordinary seaman; probably being, in the words of the facetious boatswain, "about as ordinary a seaman as he'd ever set eyes on." Crushe imagined the idiotic expression of the fellow's face was assumed to induce the commander to dismiss him from the service as useless; but this was not so—the man was weak-minded,—and any one with a particle of humanity in his heart would have been gentle with the "softy."
While at the Cape, Dunstable had tried to desert, so the day after they left that place he was brought to the gratings and received two dozen lashes, which destroyed the little sense he originally possessed; and some of the crew, finding the first lieutenant down upon the poor fellow, played him all manner of tricks. Wet swabs were dropped upon the "mad un," his grog stolen or diluted with vinegar, and pipes charged with powder were lent him by pretended sympathizers; who, knowing their superior officer disliked the man, vented their spleen upon him without fear of consequences.
Shever found Dunstable coiled up in his hammock, pretending to snooze. With the grin of a demon he took out his knife, cut the clews, and let the man down crash upon his head, then grasped him by the hair, and found he had received a severe scalp wound.
Rousing out one of the men who was sleeping near, and who proved to be Tom Clare, Shever told him to call the assistant-surgeon, adding, "Don't you call that cursed meddler, the old doctor;" and giving him a caution not to say anything to the latter, the worthy warrant-officer went on deck.
By some extraordinary accident the senior surgeon was called, we strongly suspect by Clare—although the doctor declared he came forward by accident. Dunstable's wound was sewed up, and the unfortunate fellow told "that he was on the sick list," but as the surgeon left the man the latter got up, and in spite of Clare's persuasions, walked on deck, where he went aft and reported himself ready for duty.